Lingering
by Novoux
Summary: Shizuo doesn't stop to think about mysterious phone calls and Izaya's attempts of dying on him. Shizaya.


One week of good behavior and no broken city property decides that Shizuo should be rewarded for his peaceful efforts. No trash cans thrown and crumbled into bits of metal in the road or signs of broken glass and carnage from explosive vending machine tosses. Two weeks happen like this and Shizuo rewards himself with a thick strawberry milkshake and a congratulatory dinner with Tom. And when Tom suggests that Shizuo's finally starting to control his anger he can't help but be a little excited, almost too much so under the praise of his senpai and forgetting to mention that the secret to his lack of explosive temper is due to a lack of a certain foul presence in the city.

At least he can manage to be a little more normal, with the city streets devoid of furry black jackets and gleaming red pools of blood for eyes. It's all fine as long as he can look around not clenching his fists and not finding a flicker of black invading his vision. Sometimes he does, thinking he's becoming a little paranoid when the flea doesn't show up with his stupid waltz right in front of him.

So long as he doesn't stop to think and doesn't stop thinking that maybe there's something fishy going on he forgets that it's been a month without the flea and that's awfully long. Shizuo doesn't think about it because he's been at his best since never and it's something he'd rather enjoy than waste time thinking of what Izaya's doing in his prolonged absence. Admitting to the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind make him sound like he cares—which he doesn't.

Two months happen and the first one may have gone by in the blink of an eye but the second one is on its knees crawling to a finish. Shizuo starts looking a bit more out of the corners of his eyes and his fists still tighten and he can _feel_ the clench of his throat when he sees something that looks like a parasite. It's not, every single time. It shouldn't prompt him to look even more or start to become a little wary when he finally has the parasite gone from his city yet the search continues, something on the side for nothing to worry about and only when he's out. Tom-san starts noticing things too easily.

Ten weeks pass and one night late spent staying up thinking of things he shouldn't be—his phone rings. He answers it when he sees the numbers and a live wire taps into a power source and he's livid, frustrated and angry for all the wrong reasons when he picks up his cell phone and tries not to crush it when he speaks. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" Somewhere he hears breathy laughter, cut short by a wet cough and several more to follow. His fingers curl and his arms feel like molten lead. "The fuck is wrong with you—why the hell are you calling me!?"

Ten weeks can do a lot of things. _"Just ch-checking up on the stupid monster, Sh-Shizu-chan, but it looks like y-you've been fine without me."_ Another dry laugh and Izaya's voice grates the nerves in Shizuo's brain, his ears ringing like thunder and he can hear the muffled sound of something ripping and the quiet subtle gasp of pain. _"Did you miss me? P-Probably not, you're too s-stupid to notice these things."_ He hears the exhale, the shudder and the breath of a sigh in the receiver and his eyes are already at the door.

"Fucking Christ, what the hell are you talking about now?" Shizuo's feet are an odd mix of wanting to get up from the couch and staying in place, rooted to the spot. "Miss you? Where the fuck did you get that idea?" Izaya's laughter doesn't come this time and he hears silence for longer than just a moment or several and his throat is burning with fire. Shizuo's busy listening to the sounds of background, sliding to a halt with the wet catch and something plopping like broken limbs or puddles of blood. There's no reason to be thinking of this but now he's not thinking much at all besides one track and only one way to counter it.

" _Looks l-like you lose, Shizu-chan,"_ Izaya's voice comes crawling back into the phone the argument of lingering in Shizuo's apartment already much stronger than that. Feet on the floor and he's more than staring at the door with these racing thoughts thinking—wanting to believe that it's just a prank and Izaya's disappearance hasn't sparked anything of interest—the same things between slithering insults and hearing ragged breaths every now and then with each second wasting itself ticking by. _"A monster c-could never..."_

The line cuts—dial tones ringing in Shizuo's ear with a message of _the number you are calling is no longer in service, please call again—_ shoes are on his feet and there's nothing else besides the jingle of keys in his hand not trying to break the door when it slams shut. A million thoughts one hundred and one counting backwards because he can't freak out now, he can't get angry and he can't pretend that he didn't just hear something that sounds an awful lot like giving up. For the flea it's impossible and he's not about to be punked just for nothing.

It's dark outside and there are street lamps for stars bouncing back the light from the phone in his hand, the same repeating tone of _the number you are calling is—_ resisting heavily to break the plastic and metal in between his fingers as he keeps trying. There are still ringing sounds, meaning it's got to be connecting somewhere and he can focus on that instead of why he's doing this in the first place. The answer to why is something he doesn't know and would rather not care to ask.

His first instinct is to check Izaya's apartment. But with the flea and the slap of wet fabric (soaked in _blood,_ what else could it be?) means no, he didn't make it back in time to laugh while he stitches himself back together.

The alleyways are dark skies and they dim where cell phone rings bounce back off the walls, down a brick alleyway too far from civilization to seem normal. Near a bunch of creepy ass warehouses that have been abandoned just as long as Shizuo has known the flea is never up to any good. He keeps walking, feet thudding on the ground thundering in his ears streaks of lightning lighting up the sky in a roll of a thunderstorm starting to crash into the heavens.

This time—he hears it. He hears the cell phone ringing when he presses the dial button again and he's _sure_ that the stupid bastard has got to be here somewhere, he can't just run off when Shizuo knows what wet blood on pavement feels like and the sensation is just as uncomfortable as Izaya's stupid smirk whenever he's in pain.

One more redial. His blood is pounding and his head is screaming to just _stop_ because he's not getting anywhere tonight and it's not worth trying to look for what isn't there. So much so that when his foot crunches over hard plastic he doesn't hear it until he hears the ringing of thunder echoing and sees the lightning-streaked blood trail on the ground. It's too dark to see any more until the next flash hits and by then his throat is tightening around something akin to frustration and anger.

"God fucking damn it!" Shizuo bends, retrieves the broken plastic underneath his foot that's been ringing the entire time and he's just putting the pieces together now. "Don't fuck with me, you shitty fucking louse," he hisses, holding up the phone that shows the call log of only him and his name next to his number.

If he had time he'd stop to think about it and come to messy conclusions.

Thunder rolls and crackles above, lighting flashes starting to come a bit faster and he can see where the blood trail leads, reeking of metal and burning flesh of two months and he hates how the flea stinks even when he's gone.

His feet follow the trail, sparse in areas before the large puddles— _already dried—t_ he scent of rot too familiar to not notice the body—or what's left of it—pressed up against a brick wall and a heaving chest for a sign of life. Maybe the bastard's just fucking with him and it's just so great that he decides to show up when he may as well fallen off the face of the earth.

"Shizu-chan," his name makes his blood boil out of his veins and his muscles are seizing squeezing things that don't sit still he feels like murder and asking questions. Instead he turns, settles for the dark figure illuminated in the light of Shizuo's cell phone and a broken call.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Shizuo drops the smashed phone onto Izaya's lap, noticing the pools of blood that just don't end and he doesn't want to know where they begin when he can feel the sting of metal in his nose. "You think it's funny to appear like that? You'd be better off if you just went and fucking _died_." He growls but he's still looking over injuries and ripped clothing, seeing the jacket Izaya wears in an entirely different color despite how dark his clothing is. From Izaya he can hear the wet sounds of breathing in and exhaling, starting to struggle with the lack of oxygen and not enough blood inside but on the ground.

"Y-You didn't have to w-watch," Izaya breathes, trying to sound sarcastic but with the collision of lightning and the thunder making him wince, he isn't all that convincing. Shizuo hears the pain in his voice and the slump of something Izaya's never going to admit to when his breaths shudder and hiss. "I was just...l-letting you k-know." He coughs something hacking and wet and it spatters onto Shizuo's face and he's sure he's going to die. Just in case his eyes close and he feels lighter, lighter than air and lighter than the lightning above zipping through the clouds and tearing them apart.

It's not because he can't _see_ much of anything anymore and his eyes are stinging with something hot and sticky so it's probably blood.

"Bull _shit._ " Shizuo snaps, watching Izaya's chest shudder concealed in dark clothing and reeking of blood. Maybe he is lying after all and maybe he wants something out of dying—"What the fuck happened to you? Tell me, or you'll feel every last moment before I crush it." Izaya thinks—dimly, and then the thought is no more when he can't remember too easily. His brain is silent for once, heart thumping every once in a while throughout the migraine he has and the ache that stretches him taught.

"Tried to..." his tongue feels like cotton soaking blood from the split and the gash on his cheek he thinks it's ironic now that he can't talk. No last words, no imparted bullshit wisdom Shizuo will take with a grain of salt or any reason not to kill him now. It'd be better if he did, seeing as he's not much left of a high-class informant.

Hands move to his shoulders, shaking him a little too roughly and Shizuo doesn't care about that. No, not as his mind's racing he's not thinking just doing and that's one of his biggest flaws but he doesn't _care_ when the bastard isn't moving, just breathing shallowly. This isn't happening because the bastard's just playing him, it's only a game to get a rise out of him and it's fucking _working_ so the game is over and he can stop bleeding out.

A laugh splits from Izaya, dry and alternating to wet when blood streaks his chin and his head lolls before he balances himself again, frustration evident only to Shizuo when he stops shaking Izaya and he stops acting like a dead man. He's not dead, he's got plenty of time and Shizuo slaps a hand over the flea's mouth to keep from hearing the hoarse bark of laughter that shivers underneath his fingers.

"Shut up, just shut up." It doesn't matter if his clothes will be ruined and they already stain as soon as one arm gets close to Izaya. Figures, always bathing each other in blood and cuts and bruises but never this bad and nothing that Izaya could inflict on Shizuo. The blond knows he's done a number on Izaya enough times before but he's never drawn so much blood and he's never felt like a murderer until now. It doesn't and won't matter if he hates how the flea keeps _laughing_ because it's so goddamn funny and he does the best thing of tasting blood and fire mixing with old steel as soon as his lips are pressed to split ones.

"Sh-Shizu..." Izaya gasps in a breath, face contorting and by what Shizuo can barely see he looks blank, hollow and empty and giving up isn't on the agenda when Izaya's already fucking with him. "Y-You've changed..."

Izaya's in his arms, head resting on his shoulder and knees bent over one arm keeping him still, blood still dripping onto the ground and these warehouses aren't helping not making this creepy and like something's supposed to happen. The flea acts like it will, not helping that he's not laughing and he's too silent and too complacent to let Shizuo carry him or _care_ in his twisted definition of the word. He doesn't. He's not and it's just whatever the flea wants to think so long as he's too quiet and too still.

Shizuo doesn't want to deal with the fucking questions that will come out of it. He can feel the blood still in his mouth and he remembers exactly how weak Izaya is that he doesn't try to bite or pull away. But as soon as he tries to ignore what sort of reaction Izaya has he feels the body shudder, falling to a limp state of unconsciousness.

And as he's running, sprinting as fast as wet bloody clothes will allow with no stars left on the streets, he thinks that Izaya is the one that's changed.

He doesn't think why.

* * *

 _This note will be on all of my new update series in the mini stories: I recently updated the program I use to write and there was a glitch that resulted in the deletion of a good chunk of my writing documents, including the plots for Edge, Person of Interest, Tedious, and many others. Many of my oneshots have gone missing and so I have not updated recently because of this. I'm still trying to get my documents back and if I have to, rewrite them. I won't be canceling anything, just trying to write. Thank you for your understanding, and please enjoy these short stories I'm writing while writing my other fics._

 _Thank you for reading._


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